


Sweet like Butterscotch

by inkberrry



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Smut, human anatomy because that's easier than thinking about plants fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkberrry/pseuds/inkberrry
Summary: Just some good old smut about two salad boys. Nothing else much to say.





	Sweet like Butterscotch

By the map, Amwyl should have reached the Grove by nightfall. The miles between it and his last campsite were substantial, but doable. A steady, even pace would take most the day.  
  
He stepped back into the comfortable humid air of the Grove a little after early afternoon instead.   
  
The last few miles he took at a run, savoring the way his muscles ached by the end. The closer he got to the Grove the faster he wanted to move, and by the time he reached it he was finally starting to grow short on breath. He was _excited_ to get home. That had never been the case before. The Grove was nice, of course, but the world was large and he wasn’t prone to staying in one place.  
  
But now he had someone waiting for him here. Someone he could run home to and tell about his recent travels and job and make him feel like there was a reason to stand still, if just for a while.  
  
Now that he was here, he wanted to rush straight to Rhysalea. His feet even started on the path towards the area where saplings gathered to be taught things the Dream left wanting. Amwyl knew he’d find him there, sitting amongst the new sylvari, his voice spreading out over the grass and filling their heads. The image caused Amwyl to smile, bright and wide and in a way he hadn’t since leaving the Grove weeks before.   
  
As he walked he greeted old friends, though he didn’t stop for proper conversations. It might have been rude, and judging by a few fallen expressions disappointing, but Amwyl’s mind was focused on one thing only. He got halfway to the clearing before he even noticed the state he was in. Clothes dusty and damp from travel and exertion, swords still strapped to his side and coated with the blood he always forgot to wipe off. There was no going back now, though. He couldn’t force himself off the path for anything, especially something so time consuming as bathing. It would have to wait until after he saw Rhysalea. Everything would have to wait.   
  
When he pushed through the last bit of brush and leaves separating the learning grounds from the rest of the Grove he stopped in his tracks. All the running and rushing and immediacy bleed out of him, finally stilling him.   
  
Rhysalea was there, just as Amwyl imagined. His legs were stretched out in front of him in the grass, slender and smooth. The afternoon sun filtered in from above, hitting his foliage — longer now than even just three weeks ago — and producing a golden halo that seemed to shimmer around him. His lips moved as he spoke, words Amwyl couldn’t hear but was mesmerized by anyway.  
  
He was so beautiful it made Amwyl’s heart ache just as his muscles did from running towards him.   
  
When the stillness was broken Amwyl moved forward as quietly as he could, not wishing to disturb the lecture. He got close and sat down next to one of the saplings, now in range of Rhysalea’s voice. It was a sound he could listen to all day; all night. Forever.   
  
Rhysalea looked at him without missing a beat, golden eyes so much like his foliage shining and again holding him still.   
  
“Well, I believe that is enough on the topic of hydrophobic plants and their impact on Asuran weather coating technology,” he said, looking back at his class of saplings. “I will see you all tomorrow. Please have a nice evening to yourselves.”   
  
The saplings began to stand and leave, chatting amongst themselves. Some gave Amwyl a wide berth, eyeing the swords and various cuts and bruises that littered his skin. He was far from noticing, however. All he could see now was Rhysalea, and with him so close he couldn’t wait a second longer.  
  
The last sapling was barely out of the clearing before he stood up and reached for Rhysalea, his arms wrapping around his middle and lifting him easily to his feet. He was light in his arms, like he weighed nothing at all. Shifting his grip a little, Amwyl hugged Rhysalea close, pressing their bodies together in a way he’d almost forgotten how _good_ it felt.   
  
“Hey Lea,” he mumbled, his lips already busy placing small kisses along his jaw and up his collarbone. “Missed you.”  
  
Rhysalea was still in his arms a moment, then hugged him back. He lifted his chin, a soft smile on his lips.   
  
“Hello Amwyl,” he said, and Amwyl noticed already a slight glow to his cheeks. “I didn’t except you until later.”  
  
Amwyl answered the comment with a kiss, covering the lips that looked about ready to say something more. With Rhysalea here in his arms, tangible and solid and no longer just a dream while he was away, his body acted before his thoughts.   
  
“Mm, yeah, I know,” he said finally, lifting his lips away from Rhysalea’s with more than a little hesitation. “I ran.”  
  
“You _ran?_ All the way through Caledon forest?”  
  
Amwyl shrugged the best he could while still holding the other sylvari close. The feat didn’t seem so big a deal to him. Just a handful of miles that separated him from his moment, which he would have done anything to speed up.   
  
“Yeah,” he replied. “I wanted to do this — "  
  
He let go of Rhysalea’s waist with one hand and moved it to the back of his neck, plunging his fingers into his foliage and holding his head steady. Without wasting any more time he kissed Rhysalea like he had wanted to the entire time he was away — deep, eager, lips moving against his in an almost frantic desire. His other hand left his waist as well and moved up to hold his cheek, thumb brushing along his skin and eliciting a more vibrant glow beneath it.   
  
The taste of honey lingered on Rhysalea’s lips, and Amwyl almost laughed while he was still kissing him. He’d missed that taste. He’d missed this feeling of warmth and closeness and acceptance. He missed Rhysalea even more than he believed he had.   
  
When he finally pulled away, his own face flushed with a gold glow that mirrored the color of Rhysalea’s hair, Amwyl did laugh. Breathy and light, his face lit up with the heat behind the kiss.   
  
“Thats…a good reason,” Rhysalea said, and Amwyl watched his eyes stray to his lips, like he was waiting for another kiss. “Should we, maybe, go home?”  
  
The rest of the world suddenly came back into focus, and Amwyl realized they’d been kissing here in the open. The thought of going somewhere private, somewhere they could continue for as long as they’d like — the whole night if Amwyl had his way — was the perfect offer.   
  
He nodded and reluctantly took his hand from Rhysalea’s foliage so he could instead hold him by the waist again as they walked. There would be plenty of time to run his hands through it later.   
  
“Let’s go home,” he said, and for once the thought of home was more alluring than the thought of leaving.   
  


* * *

  
  
There was just time for the door to shut behind them before Amwyl pinned Rhysalea against it. He pressed his body to his, lips searching and easily finding their mark along the other sylvari’s neck. A quick intake of breath told him Rhysalea hadn’t been expecting the sudden attention, but the way his body melted under Amwyl’s touch betrayed his thoughts on it.   
  
“Amwyl…”  
  
The sound of his name drew Amwyl’s attention to Rhysalea’s lips, so close now to his own. He stopped himself from just swallowing his words with another kiss, instead forcing himself to slow down and let Rhysalea adjust. As he watched Rhysalea’s eyes scanned him, pausing each time they found splatters of dried dirt or the wear of travel.   
  
“I think I need a bath,” Amwyl said with a laugh. He let go of Rhysalea and took a step back, giving him some space. He had just run some ten miles to reach the Grove and now that the immediacy of seeing his lover had dulled he realized he must look a bit worse for wear.   
  
“Oh.” Rhysalea stepped after him, and Amwyl thought he heard a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Well, I can draw one up for you. And while you bathe I can make us some dinner —“   
  
“No, no,” Amwyl interrupted, and reached out take Rhysalea’s hand. His previous intention of giving him space was gone already, pushed out by the desire to touch him again. “You can bathe with me. Right, butterscotch?”   
  
The nickname brought a slight glow to Rhysalea’s cheeks that Amwyl was very fond of. He remembered the first time he’d called him that: cooking together, Amwyl’s fingers sticky with melting sugar and butter, Rhysalea leaning against the counter, golden eyes matching the fast cooling sweet sauce on the stovetop.   
  
“Oh, of course I can.”   
  
Rhysalea’s answer brought Amwyl back from his memories. He grinned and tugged at his hand, leading him through the house and towards the bath. He didn’t want to spend a moment away from him now that he was home, not even to bathe. Besides, the tub was more than large enough for the two of them.  
  
When they reached it, Amwyl started to fill it with warm water, throwing in a handful of petals and herbs that Nettle had given him the last time he was home. Soon the scent of roses and hyssop filled the room, and wisps of steam rose above the water.  
  
“All set,” Amwyl said, satisfied with his work. Without hesitation he set aside his weapons and began to strip off layers of clothes. He didn’t stop until he was bare, the dark purple of his skin interlaced with orange standing out in the stark light of the bathroom.  
  
“Want help?” He asked, noticing Rhysalea was still mostly clothed. When he got a confirming nod, Amwyl moved close and helped pull the shirt over his head, exposing his middle. Amwyl let his hands brush over him briefly, lingering along his sides and down towards his thighs. Heat started to build in him as his heart sped up, his body reacting to the growing desire he felt at each piece of clothing Rhysalea shed.   
  
By the time they were both fully nude Amwyl almost wished he’d drawn a cold bath.   
  
There was washing to be done first, though. So he stepped into the tub and held a hand out to help Rhysalea in, and they both settled into the pleasantly warm water. It was instant relief to Amwyl’s sore and much used muscles. He relaxed into the heat, shoulders slumping and body loosening up. Sometimes he was too hard on himself, pushing to the limit without realizing it. Now, sitting with his back against the side of the tub and Rhysalea between his legs, he knew the past bit of travel and fighting had been one of those times.   
  
Amwyl’s eyes shut for a moment, just basking in the comfort. When he opened them Rhysalea had moved closer, his back resting against his chest, foliage tumbling over his shoulders and floating atop the water. He reached around and took the ends of it into his hand, rubbing the soft ferns between his fingers.   
  
“Can I wash your foliage?” he asked, eyes still focused on the golden leaves and the way they shone with drops of water laced throughout.   
  
“Please do.”   
  
Rhysalea’s answer was soft, just like the foliage. Amwyl gathered more of it in his hand and with the other found a vial of scented soap. He lathered it into Rhysalea’s foliage, taking care not to pull or damage any of it. His fingers worked somewhat clumsily, but he went slow to make up for it. He wasn’t known for finesse or dexterity, as much as he tried to use both when holding something so precious.   
  
“It’s so pretty,” he mused. “You know I kept thinking about it when I was gone? I swear I could feel it in my hands when I woke up in the morning. But then it turned out just to be blankets or grass or something. Not that it reminds me of blankets or grass, but you know. Dreams and all.”   
  
“I understand,” Rhysalea answered with a light hearted laugh. “I thought about you, too.”  
  
They spent a while washing up, Rhysalea returning the favor and brushing shampoo through what little foliage Amwyl had. By the time they were both clean he was back to resting with his back against Amwyl, warm and comfortable.   
  
“This is new…”  
  
“Huh?” Amwyl glanced down to where Rhysalea was gently running his fingers near a silver scar above his knee. He frowned a moment, trying to remember where it came from. The image of a group of bandits ambushing his camp near a week ago flashed in his mind and he shrugged. “Oh, yeah. I guess it is.”  
  
Rhysalea’s fingers slid over the scar, the delicate sensation causing Amwyl to shiver.   
  
“Did that hurt?”  
  
“Nope,” he answered honestly. “It felt good.”   
  
He placed his hand over Rhysalea’s and guided it over the mark, then further up his leg. His eyes fluttered shut again, and a soft sigh blew past his lips.   
  
“That feels good, too,” he mumbled, and buried his face in the crook of Rhysalea’s neck. He kissed at the skin there, leaving cool, wet patches as he moved down to his collar.   
  
Rhysalea now moved his hand on his own, massaging the sore muscles of Amwyl’s thighs in a way that left his breath hitching in his chest the longer it went on. He let his own hands roam, sliding up Rhysalea’s waist and then down his hips. Around him the scent of rose filled the air and the rising heat made his head feel pleasantly fuzzy.   
  
“Your skin is so much smoother than mine,” Amwyl said, his words almost lost in Rhysalea’s neck. He stretched to reach his outer thighs, marveling at the flawless expanse. “Theres like, nothing on it.”  
  
Rhysalea’s soft whimper sent a new wave of heat through Amwyl, and he nearly missed what he said next.   
  
“I don’t run off and get scarred…”   
  
“Good,” Amwyl said, easing his hands over Rhysalea’s thighs and up again towards where they met his hips. The water made his movements more fluid, and left a film of dewy moisture along the skin. “Better to kiss this way.”  
  
As if to prove his words, Amwyl gently held onto Rhysalea’s waist and turned him so they were facing each other. He brought his lips to the hollow of his throat, kissing there before working his way down his chest. Under his touch Rhysalea shuddered and another soft, pleased sound escaped him.   
  
“You’re so sensitive,” Amwyl teased, and as he kissed just below Rhysalea’s chest he squeezed playfully at his hips.  
  
“You’re just…very good at this.” Rhysalea’s voice was now broken by frequent heavy breaths, and the more attention Amwyl paid to him the more disruptive they became.   
  
“I do my best for you.”  
  
Amwyl took hold of Rhysalea again and lifted him into his lap, finally raising his lips off his body so he could look into his eyes. Both pairs shone in the now dying sunlight coming in through the windows, gold and brilliant orange to match them both. The glow along their cheeks and down their bodies blended and shone, illuminating the room and water.   
  
“Wow,” Amwyl breathed, nearly reverent. “You’re really gorgeous when you glow like that. I wanna make it even brighter.”   
  
“And…how do you plan on doing that?” Rhysalea asked and wrapped his arms around Amwyl’s shoulders to keep himself steady.   
  
“Hmm, like this —“   
  
Amwyl kept one hand on Rhysalea’s lower back and placed the other at the base of his head, drawing his face close so he could kiss him. The frantic energy from earlier was back now, and he couldn’t help the low moan that vibrated through his lips and into Rhysalea’s. His lips felt so right as they moved against his, hot and soft and melding together in the most pleasant way.   
  
Taking Rhysalea’s lower lip between his, Amwyl sucked a moment before letting it snap back, the sound wet and loud among both their heavy breathing. By now he was fully aroused, his erection settled beneath Rhysalea, still seated in his lap.   
  
Letting go of his head, Amwyl held Rhysalea with both hands and lifted him up again, this time guiding him down until he felt himself slide inside of him, the heat and tightness instant and almost overwhelming. He groaned and buried his face again into Rhysalea’s shoulder at the same time the other sylvari gasped.   
  
A second of silence passed before Amwyl looked up at Rhysalea to gauge how he was faring.   
  
“Good?” he asked, always mindful to be concerned over the state of his lover. He recalled the first time they were together, when he must have made himself sound a broken holorecord for how many times he asked if Rhysalea was okay.   
  
“Y-yes, I’m good.” Rhysalea’s answer was shaky but honest, and Amwyl let the worry leave him in place of more needy, desperate feelings.   
  
“Good,” he reaffirmed, and his grip on Rhysalea’s hips tightened. He guided his movements again, this time adding his own as he moved his hips up to meet him. The motion was steady and sure, each thrust controlled. The muscles of his abs tensed as he pulled Rhysalea closer, and the water shifting between them splashed and swirled.   
  
A moment went by, then two. Amwyl was busy kissing any part of Rhysalea he could, and was rewarded in turn by his lover’s lips on him as well. They lifted soon though, and then Rhysalea was looking at him, glow swelling along his face and ears and chest.   
  
“Mm, can you —“ he said, voice again broken by another soft whimper as Amwyl hit a particularly deep spot. “More? Please?”  
  
The request caught Amwyl by surprise, but it did nothing less than double his desire for more of Rhysalea.   
  
“Hell yeah I can,” he said, a grin back on his face. “But, uh, not in here. Hold on.”  
  
Readjusting his grip so he was holding Rhysalea beneath his thighs, Amwyl lifted him up at the same time as he stood. He made sure to keep himself inside him, hugging him close so not to lose any of the friction and sensation. Carefully he stepped out of the tub and walked them the few feet to the bed, then lowered them both onto it, Rhysalea on his back and Amwyl above him.  
  
“This is way better,” he said as he angled himself a little better and rested a forearm by Rhysalea’s head so as not to put his full weight on him.   
  
Before Rhysalea could comment, Amwyl cut off his words with another deep kiss. The time for small comments was over, and all he wanted was to feel Rhysalea’s body under him and hear the pants and moans that filled the room. Any aches he felt from travel vanished for the time being, and Amwyl put all his focus into the rhythmic motions of thrusting into Rhysalea. He was lost in it soon, and lost in the sensation of Rhysalea’s body and the feel of his foliage brushing his chest and the scent of roses that clung to both of them.  
  
Soon he started to hear the more insistent breathing and higher pitched sounds of Rhysalea’s growing climax. He reached between their bodies, finding his shaft and helping him along with strokes that matched his hip’s movements. He was close, too, and by the time Rhysalea cried out in pleasure Amwyl was too, their orgasms in sync.   
  
Amwyl rode out the pleasure, his body tensing before relaxing all at once. He flopped to the side, careful not to crush Rhysalea but unwilling to fully let him go. He kept an arm draped around him and pulled him to his side, grinning lazily as he kissed the top of his head.   
  
It was a few minutes before he recovered enough to stretch his arms out and sit up. He laid Rhysalea back onto the bed in his place, admiring him again before nodding his head decisively.   
  
“Okay, now I’ll make dinner,” he said.   
  
Rhysalea laughed and idly traced the glow on Amwyl’s sides.   
  
“Where do you get all this energy from?”  
  
“I eat a lot of sugar,” Amwyl answered with a grin, knowing Rhysalea could say the same thing. He stood up then, about to head to the kitchen when he felt a tug at his wrist.   
  
“Wait,” Rhysalea said, and pulled Amwyl back down for a soft, almost chaste kiss in spite of what they’d just finished doing. “I’m happy you’re home.”  
  
“Me too, butterscotch,” Amwyl said, lips feather-light against Rhysalea’s before pulling away. “Now just lay there and rest because I’m gonna need you full of energy again soon.” 


End file.
